Crushed on Impact
by TheLostMaximoff
Summary: Set shortly after the end of 'Impact'. Wanda finds herself unable to cope with the loss of her father and makes a fateful decision.


**Crushed on Impact**

By TheLostMaximoff

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Dedication: This story is a big thank you to Laureate for her constant praise.  She told me I needed to write a Wanda concerning 'Impact' so I hope I've made her happy with this one.

            He's gone.  He's never coming back either, never.  He's gone and I'm all alone.  My entire world has crumbled and collapsed in one instant.  My father is dead, murdered.  I stare at my brother through bleary, tear-filled eyes.  I can't read his expression for once and that hurts me even more.

            "Wanda, he wasn't the father you remember," explains Pietro.  He makes no sense.  I know what I know.  My father loved me.  He loved me and Pietro more than anything in the world.  He was a good father, never mistreated us.  That is truth to me.  It's what I know, what I remember.

            "Wanda, he wasn't the kind of person who deserved tears," says Pietro.  How can he be so heartless?  Father loved Pietro and I thought Pietro loved him too.  Why isn't he sad?

            "Wanda, please," he pleads as he tries to put his hand on my shoulder.  I growl at him and he retreats.  I sit there curled up on my bed and continue crying.  He makes no further moves to comfort me, his little sister.

            "Why are you being so cold?" I ask him.  There's no reply.  I look up and he's not even there anymore.  He's gone just like Father.  I thought I knew my brother but I guess just like the rest of my family he's left me here all alone.

            "Fine," I mutter.  The door slams shut on its own, a spontaneous hex that usually happens when I get angry.  I don't want anyone near me right now.  The only person I want is my father.  I can remember all the times he took me and Pietro to the park or how every night he'd tuck me into bed and call me his little princess.  God, I miss him so much.  It's not fair.  Why does everyone in my family have to keep dying?

            Pietro's reaction still bothers me.  Why wasn't he crying?  I thought he would break down too and then we could cry together.  We always did everything together, everything but this.  I thought I knew him well enough to think he loved Father as much as I did.  Now I don't know him at all.  He looked so callous when he told me.  I could tell that secretly he was happy about it.  Why?  It doesn't make sense.

            I am alone now.  There's no one left but me.  I can't do this anymore, go on living without anyone to help me.  A person can only lose so much but with me there seems to be no limit.  I've lost both my parents and now I don't even have my own brother to comfort me.  The only family member I have left has turned into some kind of heartless monster.  God, how much more can I take?

            I stop crying.  For a second I can hear Father, can see him.  I can see him playing with me and Pietro.  I can see him taking us to get ice cream or to the carnival to watch the fireworks.  Then I see him call to me for help and then he fades away like the ghost he now is.

            Why didn't anyone help him?  I would've if I had been there.  I would've helped him, saved him.  The X-Men could've helped him but they didn't.  What's one less enemy, huh?  Bastards, all of them.  I thought they would help him just like I thought Pietro would help me through this.  I've been wrong about everything it seems.

            The pain, it crushes me and buries me alive.  The hurt and loss suffocates me, takes my very breath away until I can't go on anymore.  Why bother anyway?  It hurts more to go on living alone for the rest of my life.  Why not just end it all right now?  I open my door and wander into the bathroom.  Medication, pain reliever, that's what I need.  Not the kind in bottles, the sharp metallic kind.

            I've never liked pain in all its many forms.  I guess that's why I like to think about happy memories when I'm depressed.  I have enough of them so why not?  This pain is too much to wipe away though.  It needs more relief than happy memories.  In all actuality this time the memories only intensify the pain because I know he's gone and I can't bring him back.

            I stare into the mirror.  I can't bring him back but I can come to him.  Yes, that's it.  I'll come to him, come to the happy, perfect place where he and Mom are together again.  I can hear him calling to me, telling me to come join him and we can all be a family again.

            What about Pietro, can he come too?  Maybe, if he promises to behave himself.  He shouldn't have said those things about Father.  Maybe he can apologize.  Maybe I should just leave him here, leave him all alone.  He doesn't care about Father, probably doesn't care about me either.  Why not just give him what he wants?  If he doesn't care about us then why care about him?

            I open the medicine cabinet.  Razors, sparkly and sharp.  Any of them will do.  I pick one and stare at it as I turn it over in my hand.  Father's voice urges me to go ahead.  I'm a little nervous, I don't like pain.  He tells me it will only last for a few seconds and then I'll be with him and Mom forever and ever.  Pain is only temporary anyway, there's always an escape from it.  Soon I'll be with Mommy and Daddy and live happily ever after.

            I wonder what Mom's like now.  I can't remember her much.  She died when I was really little.  I bet she'll love me just like Dad did.  I bet she wants me to come with her and Dad too.  I've missed her.  We'll have plenty of time to be together soon.  Soon nothing will ever tear my family apart again.

            I stare at the razor and then my wrist.  How much is too much?  Dad says wrist first.  I trust him, he's older than me and knows more stuff than I do.  I'm a good little girl, Daddy's princess.  The razor stings as it bites my wrist.  I wince but Dad keeps telling me how good I'm doing.  I give my wrist another slash.  Dad says that's enough for the wrist.  One on the throat and then I'll see him again.  I'll be able to feel him hug me and tuck me in at night and play with me.  One more on the throat and I'll be happy again.  I'll never hurt again.

            I raise my head and expose my neck.  I rest the blade against the fragile skin and close my eyes.  I can see him calling to me.  Him and Mom in a field full of flowers under a blue sky with puffy, white clouds.  It's beautiful and soon I'll be there with them too.  My last thought as I slit my own throat is, 'Father, I'm coming.'


End file.
